


Junkyard Testimony

by RedAnthem



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Apollo is annoying, Bianca comes back AU, Gen, Nico is a kid, Not Canon Compliant, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:08:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26263984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedAnthem/pseuds/RedAnthem
Summary: Bianca reflects on her childhood after waking up in the junkyard she died in.
Relationships: Bianca di Angelo & Nico di Angelo
Kudos: 18





	Junkyard Testimony

Your memories come in quakes; small shakes of feelings that you had long forgotten, feelings that come to you in shockwaves of relentless emotion that demands to be felt, seen, and heard all at once.  
  
 **_A long time ago_ ** **_  
_**   
The first was something you'd thought was washed away completely by the Lethe; a memory of your mother. After a whole month at sea your mother and brother are unloading your whole lives off of the passenger ship, into the trunk of a shiny American-made automobile. A man you’ve never seen before sits in the driver's seat, tense, his dark brows knitted together and his eyes are fixed on your mother. You decide you don't trust him, but your mother shoves you and your brother into the back seats and the two of you are too seasick and tired to question.

  
Your brother is fiddling with various toys he brought with him as he often does, and the stranger is speaking in tense, quiet whispers to your mother, who nods solemnly a few times. You watch the world run past you from inside the car until it stops, opening up to a large, bustling building. Still stiff after the nonstop travel, you help your mother and the stranger unload your luggage while Nico waits, confused, but impatient.   
  
"Where are we?" he takes in the whole scene and you can see his trepidation in the quivering of his mouth and the excitement in his eyes.   
  
"A hotel" mother answers wearily, and leaves it at that.   
  
As you head inside, people rush to take your luggage after the stranger speaks to the man at the big desk angrily, and your mother reaches down to hold your hand.   
  
"Watch your little brother for me, alright? Mama must take care of some things at the moment." She says, and you do, because at the time you didn't know that _moment_ could mean _years_ and that a simple nod could be a signature on a confirmation for a life sentence of being the only person there for Nico, of being alone without truly being alone and being responsible but at the same time, helpless.   
  
**_A short while after that, whenever that was_ **   
  
The second memory is much more familiar and a lot less placeless.   
  


After your mother’s death, the government (?) took you and your brother into a private school in Washington DC. You have to wear itchy uniforms, speak English, and people tell you what to do all the time. 

  
The teachers called for you again out of desperation and you don't need to ask any questions, because it's the fourth time that month that they rushed to your 5th grade classroom, heads poking frantically out of the door as if they were being stealthy, and begging you to please please please get your younger brother to stop crying because he's being a distraction.  
  
You walk to the office where a sniveling, weeping boy is on the floor, against the wall, with teachers circling around like vultures. When they see you arrive the teachers part and distance themselves to allow you to perform the magic of being Nico's big sister.  
  
It takes you less than a minute to convince him to go back to class with a smile on his face after a few short promises that you can't keep.  
  
It's another case where some bullies made fun of Nico because he's, well, unique (to put it in kindest terms), and him erupting in a storm of tears because, he's, well, Nico.   
  
It's moments like these that make you simultaneously love and hate Nico. You care for him, you want to protect him from harm, you want to keep your last promise to a mother that you no longer remember. You want to leave him, you want to make him live on his own, because you're only ten and you've been saddled with the responsibilities of Mother and Big Sister at the same time, and you haven't had a single friend of your own since you can remember. It's hard to name the maelstrom of protectiveness, spite, loneliness, love, and frustration that you feel everyday because, after all, you're only ten.  
  
You want to blame your feelings on something, someone that isn't Nico, because he's only a baby and it's not his fault. So you blame it on the stupid American school with its stupid American kids and stupid American teachers who don't know how to quiet a child. Other times, you blame the war for ripping you away from your mother and your home. Other times, when you are at your wits end, you blame your mother and father for dying before you could remember enough about them and leaving you to take on roles you were never prepared to. And sometimes, when you are feeling hopeless, you blame yourself for not being strong enough for Nico and yourself at the same time.  
  
You have to make sure he eats Make sure he brushes his teeth twice a day Make sure those bullies don't hurt him Make sure he does his homework Make sure he goes to bed early Earlier than you so he doesn't have to hear you cry yourself to sleep each night after the maelstrom in your heart and head gets to be too much, so he doesn't feel as helpless as you do.  
  
In the end, you're twelve years old, but you could be a hundred years old, your heart is stiff and sturdy like a wall, not to protect yourself, but to protect Nico, because you aren't going to let the world make him old and hurt like it made you.  
  
 ** _An interlude after that and later_**  
  
The third memory is more like a nightmare than a memory.  
  
Another unidentifiable and unmemorable lawyer with a hawkish face and a briefcase like a coffin grabs you and your brother after-the end of 6th grade for you and 4th grade for Nico. The road trip from Washington D.C., to Las Vegas, Nevada, is just as unmemorable. The world ran across your window too fast for you to fully grasp.  
  
(Now that you know better, you can only explain that the Mist was disguising the truth, but you're used to feeling like your memories don't line up the way they should, so you don't bother with overthinking it.)  
  
A smiling, wax figure-like man with glass eyes ushers you and your brother into a room, and you haven't even packed away your things into the many drawers and cabinets in the room before your brother bolts out of the door.   
  
Late childhood came with a burst of new energy for Nico and you can sense his excitement. You can't blame him--the bright lights, the games and rides (who knew you could fit a whole amusement park indoors?) had tempted you too, but something was wrong, something you couldn't place.  
  
You tried to keep track of the days, but nothing ever seemed to rest in the casino, so you couldn't tell when anything began or ended-new amusements seemed to appear out of nowhere, and old ones disappeared as if they never existed at all.  
  
Nico loved it, of course, because he's Nico: easily excited and easily distracted. Everyday you try to rein him in, get him to slow down for a bit and think, but his thoughts and interests race just as fast as the rest of the casino, to the point where you can barely recognize the shining dark eyes staring back into yours asking Bianca, what's wrong?  
  
What's wrong is that you can't wrap your head around your environment anymore. What's wrong is you can't take care of Nico as well as you used to.  
  
You have to make him eat something other than the fried junk food at the packed and greasy cafeteria.   
  
Make him sleep once in a while.   
  
Make sure he doesn't sneak into any movies that are way too adult for him because he's gotten so good at lying and disguising the truth that he can spin your head on backwards and everyone else's too.  
  
Make him take his attention away from the games for long enough so you can still speak to him and recognize him as your brother and not some other unrecognizable child playing games here because it's too easy to forget yourself and the rest of the world in this place.  
  
It's all futile; you know, but it's all you have left. You're helpless and confused and your brother barely feels familiar anymore and you feel more alone now than you ever have in your life and why is it that the staff members here don't even look speak _feel_ human-  
  
-And you and your brother are yanked out of the casino by another unidentifiable and unmemorable hawk faced lawyer with a briefcase like a coffin.  
  
 ** _The Later, before the present_**  
  
The fourth memory is the clearest and most recent, and is of the most defining moment of your life: the choice between staying with your brother or leaving him.  
  
Lady Artemis is a girl who looks your age but with eyes that feel older than how you feel.  
  
She asks you if you'd like to join her group of hunters. You ask her why she'd want you.  
She answers that you seem like good material. You ask what "good material" means. She answers that you seem like you'd find what you need here and not at Camp Half Blood. You ask her what she means by that. She answers that she's familiar with your situation and that she can give you the freedom and companionship you've always wanted. You ask her what will happen to your brother. She assures you he'll be okay.  
  
You are still hesitant. The promise you made to your mother (she's dead-if you join Lady Artemis, nobody really dies, nobody can leave you like she did) rattles in your head frantically, as a reminder that you have responsibilities, but that promise stopped feeling like a promise and more like a weighted chain since ages ago.  
  
Lady Artemis calls Percy Jackson in-that boy who helped save you and your brother from...whatever Dr. Thorn turned into.   
  
Percy Jackson isn't too bad of a guy. He's brave, and kind. He's heroic and Lady Artemis, who made it clear she does not think well of boys, seems to trust his word. Nico likes him well enough.  
  
The lady turns back to you, searching for a final answer to her offer. You feel an ache in your bones that could that could be longing, or a guilty conscience. Percy Jackson looks stunned, telling you that your brother can't follow, you'd be leaving him behind, how could you?  
  
Of course you can't leave him. You're all he has, all he trusts, the only person who can take care of him.  
  
You look towards Percy Jackson. You see a hero before you, and if his friends at that camp are anything like him, they are trustworthy enough. You look into his eyes and see your own reflection. A scrawny, insecure, scared little girl stares back at you.  
  
You swear the oath. Not just for yourself, though you tell Percy that selfishness was in your mind later; but for Nico. You aren't strong enough as you are for Nico. The monster attack taught you enough.  
  
You end up selling off your promise to your mother to a boy who never wanted it in the first place.  
  
 ** _The Present_** ** _  
_**  
You wake up in a junkyard of shining metal and dust just as the sun rose white above the distant horizons. You don't remember it yet, but this is where you died. A tan man in his early twenties-with an odd glimmer that clings to him like a heat off asphalt-paces above your head frantically, running his sweating palms through his golden blond hair.  
  
"I had to do it, you see, bad bad bad things are coming, surely he'll understand, right?" The man speaks to the ground as if you weren't there. "Surely he will! Dad can forgive. So what if I broke ancient laws? It's not like he hasn't done it himself before!"  
  
A persistent ache in your bones slowly recedes, and you open your mouth to speak, the rust in your voice from (months, years of) disuse showing through your words.  
  
"Who are you...and where am I?"  
  
The man finally stops pacing. He seems almost surprised that you were there, as if he was so absorbed with his own panic he didn't know there was a whole person at his feet.  
  
"Oh! You're awake! Good, good. You must be very confused. I'm Apollo, and this is the junkyard of the Gods...Surely you recognize this place." He sees your confused expression and sighs. "No memories? None, whatsoever?" He continues pacing frantically, saying things like, just great, what am I supposed to do now, and Zeus will have my head.  
  
Crucial facts slide into place. First, you remember your name is Bianca di Angelo. Second, you have a little brother ~~that you would do anything in the world for~~ that you traded, for freedom and eternity. Lastly, and third, you died and left him behind, and you didn't plan on coming back.  
  
You sit back up, slowly but surely, your once-dead bones and once-dead joints creaking and popping from the movement. "I'm supposed to be dead", you say quietly.   
  
"Um, what was that, sweetheart?" Apollo shifts his bright gaze to you.  
  
"I'm supposed to be dead. Why am I not dead?" You say, a scowl on your face, and an accusatory tone in your voice.  
  
Apollo raises an eyebrow in confusion, because he probably didn't consider the thought that maybe a long and restfully dead girl didn't plan on coming back to a life filled with regret and guilt. You can see the thoughts ticking in his head; him considering possible reactions and answers.  
  
"Well, I brought you back, of course" he pauses, gauging your reaction, then continuing, "a child of Hades is just what the prophecy needs, and your brother is...busy. I'm desperate, you see."  
  
You stand and shake on your rickety once-dead legs and point an angry finger in his direction. "You...brought me back to life. I was going to be reborn. But you brought me back."  
  
"Yes, yes, like I said" Apollo furrows his eyebrows. "I'm desperate. You see, dead monsters usually stay dead, but that’s not happening for some reason.”  
  
You hiss, and Apollo looks at you strangely, like he honestly expected you to be appeased, as if an explanation was better than sending you back to the Underworld so you could be reborn and forget your painful old life. You lunge with your fist for a solid punch, throwing respect to the wind, but it hits empty air. A voice calls cheerily from far behind you.  
  
"See you soon, Bianca! It was nice meeting you, but it seems like your ride is here! Goodbye!"  
  
Just as you whip your head to face him, your legs fall underneath you, and you smell the overpowering smell of diesel and hear a deafening engine roaring.

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this running AU in my head since forever, which culminated in me writing this a couple of years ago, and never knowing what to do with it. It's where Apollo surreptitiously raises Bianca from the dead after being blamed for the monsters escaping from the Underworld, and she has to go play assassin to save his hide. Maybe one day I'll finally figure out the direction I'm going for, maybe not. 
> 
> Also, I've always hated how much blame is placed on Bianca for her decisions. She and Nico have always been so interesting to me, and I always felt that they both had very sympathetic feelings and reasons, even though nothing ever turned out ideally for either of them.


End file.
